Not So Bad After All
by Mr. Invincible
Summary: *Series 3 Episodes 2 & 3 spoilers* The Watsons have invited Sherlock to meet his goddaughter formally for the first time. Sherlock is skeptical, not particularly fond of babies in general. After all, who likes snot-nosed brats? But, as courtesy, he must go. As the night continues, he realizes his jealousy is unwarranted. Maybe the baby isn't so bad after all. One-shot.


**Another warning: If you haven't seen series 3, episode 2 and 3… Don't continue reading. There are spoilers, but I feel at this point the entire fandom knows. **

**While I'm not new to the Sherlock fandom, this is my first Sherlock fic/one-shot. The plot for this was based off something I saw on Tumblr/Instagram.**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss.**

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The detective found himself lounging around on his sofa. He would occasionally get up in abrupt manner, pace back and forth, before resuming his recumbent position. His hands under his chin pensively, one thought had been hounding him all morning.

John had invited him over for dinner later that day. This was Sherlock's first formal visit to his goddaughter, Willa Jean Watson. He had seen the little girl the day she was born at the hospital. Now, a few months later, he had barely had a chance to visit the Watsons with the new member at their house.

Now, about this problem of his: he couldn't stand crying babies. Babies at all for that matter. They were all snivelling, snot-nosed creatures that grabbed anything in front of them. Sherlock had the misfortune a meeting a baby once.

He had already bought the baby a gift as apparently was the custom. Thank you brother dearest for that information.

Nevertheless, Sherlock had vowed to keep all three of them safe, snot-nose and all. Why that entailed presents was beyond him.

He glanced at the clock on his wall, the time reading 6:30 P.M. He pulled on his characteristic overcoat and blue scarf before heading downstairs.

John had of course invited Mrs Hudson as well, but the old lady had politely declined. She jabbered on about some house cleaning she had to do. Sherlock didn't understand what she was talking about. The state of the house looked like she had been living in a dumpster her entire life. Why change now?

He reckoned it had something to do with putting him in an awkward place alone with the Watson family.

As he hailed a taxi, he pondered over the moment John had revealed the child's name.

_Sherlock was just about to leave the hospital, still slightly stunned that John and Mary had chosen him to be godfather to their little girl._

"_Sherlock!" he heard John's voice call him back. He stopped mid-step, not turning around. John hurried over._

"_Sherlock mate, I hope you don't mind…" John paused, waiting for Sherlock's attention._

"_On with it already," Sherlock said, exasperated a little._

"_We, Mary and I, named her after you."_

_Sherlock turned around quickly, a mixture of shock and surprise on his face, "You…named her Sherlock? I was making a joke when I said it was a girl's name. Regardless, I am flattered John that you would actually consider…"_

"_Not Sherlock, you idiot. You know, for a detective, you're rather dense."_

"_Am not," Sherlock said rather childishly. "Then what were you referring to?"_

"_Your real name? William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Ring a bell?"_

"_You aren't serious. God, you're serious aren't you?" Sherlock pinched his nose bridge, his eyes closed in deep frustration. "Unbelievable."_

"_Willa Jean Watson," John ignored his friend, "Mary thought a variation of both of our names would be befitting."_

_Sherlock continued muttering. It was as though the two were having separate conversations. "John, I cannot believe you would do such a thing. Actually, I can. You inobservant moron. There was a reason I went by the name Sherlock, not William. You're never gone let me live down my absolutely regular name…Just incredible."_

"_Oh come on Sherlock, it's not that bad of name."_

"_When you have a brother named Mycroft, William is just an insult."_

"_Out of curiosity, do people ever call him Mikey?"_

"_Don't ever bring that up around him."_

"_Right, understood."_

_There was a pregnant silence between the two, each one glaring at the other. And then the two talked simultaneously._

"_Willa. What the hell were you thinking?"_

"_It's too late to change it now."_

Looking back on it, Sherlock regretted ever mentioning the name to John. This was some sort of form of vengeance for everything and anything he had ever done to him. No point thinking about it now.

The taxi had arrived, and Sherlock found himself on the way to the Watsons. He scrolled through his messages, ignoring the ones from Anderson's little fan club. Molly had texted him as well, but he would read it later. He dismissed Mycroft's urgent message, sending it to Spam.

He sent a quick message to John: _On my way. –SH_

Ten minutes later, he stood in front of the Watsons' doorway, hesitant to knock. Just as he was about to, the door swung open to reveal Mary's smiling face.

"I had a feeling you were at the door. Come on in then, won't you?"

Sherlock offered a weak smile, a sense of foreboding settling over him. The baby. He had almost forgotten about it. He realized one his biggest problems with the baby was rooted in jealousy. Yes, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, was jealous of a baby.

As he had admitted at the couple's wedding, he was no longer the Watsons' only "child." John would be even more tied up with family life than before.

He saw John standing in the kitchen, a tiny pink bundle in hand. Oh god, there it was, already mocking him.

"Sherlock," John greeted him enthusiastically as he handed off the bundle to Mary and pulling in Sherlock for a hug.

Sherlock stiffened at the touch, his mind still focused on the bundle. Yes, he was going to refer to it from now on as the bundle. It made it seem less human. But no such chance.

"And Sherlock, the newest member of our family, Willa Jean Watson."

Sherlock, by habit, put out his arm as though about to shake hands with the baby. He realised his mistake, quickly putting his hand in his coat pocket.

Mary noticed his discomfort, "Sherlock, would you like me to take that coat for you?"

"Ah, yes please," he shrugged off his coat and unwrapped his scarf. He handed it over to his hostess while John led him to the sofa.

And then the dreaded question. John looked uncomfortable as he asked, "Uh…would…you…like to hold her?"

Sherlock paled. This was what he had been preparing for all day, but… No, he couldn't back down now. John would laugh. The great Sherlock Holmes unable to handle a baby?

"It's alright if you don't want to," John said quickly, noting Sherlock's expression.

"No!"

Both Sherlock and John were taken aback by Sherlock's sudden outburst.

"No, I would like to hold the bun—my goddaughter," Sherlock swallowed, certain that the gulp was visible.

Mary had come back into the room, "Oh Sherlock, you'll do fine."

"What if I drop her?"

"You can't harm her. She's your goddaughter."

"But if I do…"

"Sherlock, put out your arms like this," Mary commanded, demonstrating for him. John than placed the child in the cradle-like arms.

"See, there's nothing to it."

Sherlock thought it was like holding his old dog, Redbeard. The baby squirmed in his arms. Sherlock was afraid to look down.

"Take a peek."

He decided to oblige. Why the hell not? He was already this far. He looked down at the curious face staring back at him. The tuft of light brown hair resembled her father's. The light blue eyes were a mix of both parents.

"She's…uh," Sherlock cleared his throat, "She's pretty."

"Don't strain yourself," John looked amused as Mary took the baby from his arms, cooing to the child. Another thing Sherlock didn't understand about babies and their parents: the need to coo.

The bundle had been transferred to a car seat which was then precariously placed atop a high chair. Dinner occurred without much interference from the bundle. Other than the change of nappies. Sherlock found the stench unbearable as the Watson's quickly changed it on the kitchen counter. It was rather appalling, he noted, that the nappie changing station was near the food.

He lost his appetite soon after. Mary brought out the apple tart she had spent hours baking that afternoon. Sherlock politely refused the second slice offered to him, noticing the filling was the same colour as the nappie stain…

John switched on the telly, finding some American programme called _Clifford's Puppy Days_. The story involved a red dog. It was rather boring to be honest, but Willa screeched with delight.

Mary attempted to feed the child some type of repulsive looking green concoction. "Willa just started solid foods," she said excitedly.

Sherlock simply nodded, restraining himself from commenting on the colour of the green mush. But, he was curious. What did it taste like? He grabbed the spoon from Mary wordlessly, popping it into his mouth.

Mary wasn't as shocked as John, but still surprised.

"What are you doing?" John questioned. "If I had known you liked baby food, Mary shouldn't have bothered with the cooking."

"Just testing to see if the nutritional value outweighs the taste of this bottle of mush," Sherlock shuddered. "It's rather bland." He added the last bit on an afterthought.

He plopped down on the sofa as John watched with incredulity. Mary smiled at their antics before bringing the spoon to the baby's mouth.

"Open…say ah," she demanded.

"Is this a daily thing?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes…?"

"Hmm."

The baby eventually complied with her mother's wishes, opening her mouth. Sherlock noted with some disdain that there was snot dripping down steadily. Neither Mary nor John paid any heed.

"Isn't it about time that this baby of yours spoke English? Why must you coo?"

"Sherlock, she's a baby. Not all babies are born geniuses like you," John retorted.

"Then what are babies any good for?" Just as Sherlock said that, he found the baby's eyes were trained on him. It was unnerving, like she understood him.

Mary ignored the quibbling males, "Want to prove Uncle Sherlock wrong, Willa?" Say Ma-ma for me."

The baby didn't open her mouth.

"See what I mean?"

"These things take time, Sherlock."

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes.

"Say Mama, sweetie. Ma-ma…" Mary repeated again.

"It's not going to work," Sherlock said, almost in a sing-song voice.

The baby opened its mouth, "Ah…" Mary sighed, feeding Willa a spoon of green pea mush (or diarrhoea as Sherlock liked to call it).

"Fine then. Let me have a go," John went over to his wife. "Willa, say Dada for me. Da-da."

"Honestly, how mundane. Mama, dada. How boring can you get?"

"What was your first word? Hmm…"

Sherlock whispered something, abashed as his face turned red.

"What was that Sherlock? Didn't quite hear you the first time."

"Shut up John. It was Mycroft. Happy?"

"Mycroft?" John asked with disbelief.

"Although, I will admit I said My-cwoft. I know, rather disturbing really."

"Mycroft?"

"John, I will not repeat myself."

Mary had turned back to Willa who was pounding the table with her little rubber spoon.

"Darling, say Mama."

"No, say Dada."

"Oh for god's sake!" Sherlock shouted, "Say murder. It would be a whole lot more interesting."

Willa looked at him, almost analytically, "…M…a..."

Mary shrieked with delight, "Did you hear, she was about to say Ma!"

"Let her finish, will you," John looked royally ticked.

Willa opened her mouth again, "Ma…Da…Ma-da…."

"Ma-da? What?"

"Ma…da…Mur…der…Murder."

Mary and John looked at Sherlock, their face unable to fully express their shock. They were speechless. Sherlock on the other hand paid no attention.

He was looking at the baby, blue eyes met blue eyes. A hint of a smile played up on his face. Maybe this wasn't bad. This wasn't bad at all.

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**I hope you enjoyed this little piece inspired by a short dialogue on Tumblr. I would really appreciate faves/reviews. I'm not British, but I tried my best with the spelling and all. So, please give me feedback by reviewing in the box below on what to improve. **

**Till next time,**

**TJ**


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